


New York City Requiem

by Redbone135



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23918848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbone135/pseuds/Redbone135
Summary: Neal Cassidy loves his imperfect life in New York with his wife and son. But he can't seem to shake this feeling that it's all too good to be true.ORRewrite of New York City Serenade where Hook shows up to jog Emma's memories and finds Neal instead.
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	New York City Requiem

Neal had never been as great of a cook as his wife, but he’d like to think he’d made some great improvements this last year. For example, he’d learned that the toaster wasn’t just for poptarts. And instead of burning the eggs, he could get them to an almost fluffy yellow right around the time his son finished math homework that probably should have been done the night before. Overall, he wouldn’t be considered a gourmet chef anytime soon, but he kept his family happy, and that’s all he had ever wanted. 

Sliding the milk carton back into the fridge, he caught a glimpse of the calendar taped to the front. Shit. The science fair. 

“Hey, kid, get your backpack, we’re late,” Neal said through a mouth of toast, trying to swallow his entire mug of coffee in one gulp. Henry could not be late to set up his display, not this year. Not again. Emma would kill him. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

“Mom, dad’s trying to take me to school in pajama pants again!” Henry yelled without looking up from his book.

“Neal!” Emma yelled from the back bedroom as Neal winced, “Put on pants so you don’t embarrass your son.”

“Tattletale,” Neal muttered, bumping his son’s shoulder as he made his way back into the little bedroom off the kitchen where his wife was getting ready for work. He could always tell when she had a big case because she would break out the curling iron and eyeliner pen, transforming from the grumpy blonde in flannel pjs that he fell asleep next to every night into a breathtaking femme fatale that always had and always would be his kryptonite. 

Digging around in the laundry he found a pair of jeans, exchanging warmth and comfort for social convention. It wasn’t like he’d be the weirdest one on the subway, even in pj pants, but he probably should be trying to set a better example for Henry. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, interrupting her morning routine to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“You look like you could use a job,” she mumbled back.

“Hey,” he laughed. “Stay-at-home dad is a job. It’s a full-time one.”

“Not buying it, Neal.”

“I’m looking baby,” he said with another kiss, “I’ve got an interview tomorrow, I promise.”

He finished buttoning his jeans in a hurry before heading back to the living room where Henry waited with all his school things. Technically he was getting old enough to ride the subway on his own, but the thought still made Emma nervous so Neal went with him every morning. To be honest, it made Neal nervous too, but he was glad he could blame it on Emma. 

No, Neal’s life wasn’t perfect. He could use a job. And a son who didn’t drag his feet so much on the way to school. And maybe a bigger apartment. But it was the best he’d ever had - ambition never being his strong suit. 

Besides, perfect wasn’t real. Neal’s life was real. And that was better than any magical fairy tale life he could have conjured in his head. By leaps and bounds, actually. 

* 

There was a man sitting against their door.

“You lost, dude?” Neal asked. The man was too well-groomed to be a drunk. The building was too well-secured to have uninvited guests. 

The man seemed a little shocked as Neal fumbled in his pockets for his keys. He stood, slowly, and for the first time Neal realized he was dressed kind of strangely. Not New York strange, but definitely strange for Neal’s social circle. All leather and eyeliner and a couple pounds of jewelry. 

“Neal,” the man breathed, still taken aback, causing Neal to freeze as well. How did he know his name?

“Can I help you?” Neal asked with narrowed eyes. 

“I’m looking for Emma Swan,” the man managed to get out and Neal felt something squeeze tightly around his heart.

“Hasn’t been Swan in a few years,” he corrected, trying not to let his jealousy get the better of him. “Emma Cassidy isn’t home. It’s ten in the morning, why would you think she’d be home?”

The man gave him a quizzical look.

“She has a job to be at,” Neal continued.

“And you don’t?”

Salt. Wound. Ouch.

“Listen, buddy, I don’t know what you want with my wife, but she’s not here right now. You can leave a message with me or you can get lost.”

“I need you to tell her that her family is in trouble. That they need her help.”

“Her family is doing just fine,” Neal said with a smirk. “Who are you, anyway?”

Please… don’t be…

“I’m just an old friend,” the man answered back with something like pity in his eyes.

Of course.

“From Phoenix?” Neal clarified. His heart thudding out of his chest.

“Sure,” the man nodded. “Will you just make sure she gets my message?”

“Want to leave a name with it?” Neal asked, hoping he didn’t.

“Listen, Neal, I know this seems crazy,” The man rushed on, but that was the last straw. Because it didn’t seem crazy, it just kind of hurt.

“Keep my name out of your mouth,” Neal hissed, opening the front door and sliding inside, “And if you’re still here when my son gets off school I’m calling the cops. She left Phoenix a long time ago. With me. You’d be smart to remember that.”

And then he slammed the door, sliding down the wall to sit with his knees to his chest like the Lost Boy he still felt like sometimes. 

Neal had always wondered. He wouldn't have blamed Emma if she had… four years was a long time to wait. What mattered is that she had been there when he got out. And then, after his parole was up, they’d moved to Tallahassee for a fresh start. Moved again, as a family, about a year ago when Emma had been offered a new job. So who cared what she was leaving behind in Phoenix? She had left it behind for him.

Yeah, he had his moments, when he thought Henry was too cute to be his. Too smart. Too determined and dedicated. Too good. But Neal had always just told himself that Henry got those traits from Emma, and that had been enough. 

He wasn’t mad. Or even surprised, really. Just a little disappointed that after twelve years of loving her, after eight years of marriage, after one son and talk of another, something could rattle him this much. 

*

He made her favorite dinner that night, grilled cheese and tomato soup, trying his best to act normal as Henry wowed them both with tales of the science fair. Apparently the volcano he and Neal had built together had been a big hit. 

It would have been so easy not to tell her. 

Besides easy, it was what he wanted to do.

But he also knew it would never be behind them if they didn’t talk about it. That he could pride himself on the fact that she had chosen him all he wanted, it didn’t mean anything if he didn’t actually give her the choice.

So after Henry went to bed, Neal opened a bottle of red wine, snuggled into bed with her, and tried to find his courage as they watched the evening news. 

“Emma?” he asked, kissing at her neck as he tried to balance the wine glass. “You know I love you, right?”

She chuckled, “At least wait till I’ve finished my glass before you start that.”

With a resigned sigh he set his glass down on the nightstand, taking hers out of her hand to join his as well. 

“I’m not going to be mad, no matter what you say,” he said, his seriousness seeming to concern her, “Phoenix was a long time ago and I understand I wasn’t very available emotionally or physically to you back then. It means the world to me that you waited for me to get out of jail. That you and Henry moved to Arizona to be able to visit me-”

“Neal, what are you accusing me of?” she asked, pushing away from him a bit.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just asking you.”

“If I ever cheated on you?” She sounded mad. Defensive. Not what he had been hoping for. “How could you think that?”

“This guy stopped by today,” he said sadly, “Good-looking guy. Asking about you. Said he was from Phoenix. He knew my name, Emma. I just want to make sure that it’s in the past.”

“Oh my God, you think I actually cheated on you!” she said, smacking the back of his head and causing him to flinch.

“You haven’t exactly said that you didn't.”

“I didn’t.”

“If you did-”

“Go sleep on the couch!” she exclaimed, pointing towards the bedroom door.

“Is Henry really mine?” he blurted out, the only question that seemed to matter anymore. He tried to tell himself he wouldn’t care if she said ‘no’. That eleven years with the boy had turned him into Neal’s son no matter what. But of course it mattered. 

“Couch!” she screamed, throwing a pillow at him as he sulked out the doorway, throwing himself down face first onto the soft leather couch and grumbling to himself about how he couldn’t believe he was actually the bad guy here. It wasn’t like it was out of the question, strange men showing up at the door and asking after her. How dare he lose his spot in his own bed because of some stranger in eyeliner who claimed to be an old friend of his wife’s. 

Still, it wasn’t his first night on the couch. Emma was quick to anger and Neal was quick to concede. 

Sometimes he even enjoyed poking at the edges of her temper, never in earnest, but enough to get a reaction. She was cute when she was mad, and it often got her to open up about things Emma was all too eager to keep bottled up.

So Neal was familiar with this routine.

He was also familiar with the one that came after it - that one he enjoyed quite a lot.

It was around three in the morning when he appeared in the doorway again, his best puppy-dog-pout in place, pillow trailing behind him. 

“I’m sorry, Em. Can I come back to bed now?”

She rolled over, ignoring him. He knew that didn’t mean she wanted him to go away, just that he needed to up the cuteness.

“Baby,” he said, climbing into bed next to her and trying to caress her ribs. She swatted him away, but that was just an acknowledgement that she was actually listening, “I just got a little insecure today. I’m sorry. I’m sure it was just some guy from work. It’s just that you’re so pretty, and so smart, and funny, and-”

“Don’t be a kiss-ass, Neal,” she sulked and he knew he had her. 

“I love you.”

“I can’t believe you would ever doubt this. That you would doubt us!”

That he would doubt her. Since they were kids it had been them against the world. They had promised to take care of each other, and then she had spent the last twelve years making good on her half of that promise. He could doubt himself all he wanted, he shouldn’t have doubted her.

“I was wrong,” he said, pulling her underneath him, lips tracing the edge of her jaw, “Can you be done being mad at me now?”

“Can you believe me when I say that you are the only man I have ever been with in the last decade? Can you believe me when I say that little boy sleeping one door down is your son, thick-headed and stubborn just like his father?”

He smirked, because she was smiling at him. He knew what came next.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, reaching for the string of his pajama pants.

She stopped him, reaching out to trace her finger lightly against his lips. “Oh, no, Cassidy, you can put that away. Your dumb mouth got you into this mess, your dumb mouth is going to get you out of it.”

He grinned, lowering himself to nip at her hip bones while her fingers tangled in his curls. 

He had been so stupid. How could he have ever doubted this?

There was nothing more real than the life they had built together. Twelve years of ups and downs. Of love and loss. Of fear and friendship. Nothing more real than his beautiful wife and their wonderful life. 

*

The interview had not gone well. He definitely hadn’t gotten the job. Not that he blamed the guy, Neal wouldn’t have hired himself, either. It was hard finding work, without a diploma or degree, four years behind bars for a class three felony - stealing from his employer, no less - , his only experience being temp or seasonal work, Neal knew he wasn’t the best candidate. 

Still, he wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Emma. It wasn’t like they needed the income, and she wouldn’t be too disappointed because she also knew how hard it was for ex-cons to find work. Still, his pride was wounded - looks like he had another month of stay-at-home dad work ahead of him.

“Okay, just hear me out,” the man started, sliding into the seat across from Neal at the little coffee shop, holding up a hand to stop Neal’s protests before they could even begin. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, to you of all people, but I’m sorry for the fright I caused yesterday.”

Fright was one word for it. 

“Listen, man, I don’t know how you know my wife, but you’re causing trouble where there doesn’t need to be any. So if I see you around my apartment again I’ll break your face, you hear me?”

“I’m not at your apartment,” the man smirked. “And you’re welcome to try.”

Neal shook his head, grabbing his coffee off the table and standing to leave.

“Wait!” The man called, swearing under his breath, “I need you to listen to me, Baelfire.” 

Well that was a name he shouldn’t have known, even if Emma had warned him about her husband. 

“You have three minutes,” Neal growled, sinking back down across from the man and glaring. “Start talking.”

“Emma’s parents are in danger.”

“Emma doesn't know her parents. And I’m not really interested in that part of the story. Where did you hear Baelfire from? What does that name mean to you?”

“It means a little Lost Boy. It means a man running from his father. It means a lot of things to me, but one thing it doesn’t mean is Emma’s husband. Emma Swan-”

“-Cassidy,” Neal corrected through gritted teeth.

The man shook his head. “The woman you think is your wife, she isn’t. I don’t know how much you remember, since you obviously don’t remember me, but you know about magic, Baelfire, you know about curses, so let’s take a shortcut here - your father is involved.”

Neal glared skeptically. “Two minutes.”

“I know you remember your father. Your childhood. Pieces of it. Maybe just snippets in dreams. But you remember. This life, this life isn’t real. The last decade. It’s not real. It’s a curse. A powerful one.”

Neal scoffed. 

“Listen, you don’t have to believe me, go to this address. See for yourself.”

He slid a piece of paper across the table.

“Maybe that’ll jog your memory. You’re a smart man, Neal, you know something is off. You’ve known for a while, you just can’t shake the feeling that this is all too good to be true. It’s not.”

“Too good to be true?” Neal hissed. “Are you fucking kidding me? You think this is my dream life?”

“No,” The man shook his head. “It’s Henry’s. Regina crafted whatever life she needed to in order to make Henry happy. Think about it - his parents are together, his father’s home with him all the time. His mother’s happy for once. It’s Henry’s dream - but we need the three of you to wake up now.”

Neal didn’t know who Regina was. And Henry had never known a time when his parents weren’t together. But Emma was happy, and Neal did get to spend a lot of time with his son. 

But it wasn’t too good to be true.

It was just true enough to be good.

“One minute,” Neal prompted.

“Go to that address. If you want to talk to me afterwards I’ll be in Central Park. Don’t do this for yourself. Do this for your wife. She has a family out there that love her. It’s what she’s always wanted. You gave her that once, Neal, you can do it again.”

*

It wasn’t like Neal had anything better to do today. Sure, he probably shouldn’t be trespassing or breaking and entering, but unemployment was boring and he still had a few hours before picking Henry up from school. Why waste a clean suit and a nice afternoon?

Plus maybe this would get the leather-clad stranger to leave him and his family alone. 

And yeah, there was a lot of graffiti and construction, a front gate that didn’t latch all the way, an elevator that looked less safe than the stairs, but it was still SoHo and the last thing Neal needed was another charge on his record. 

But he had to know.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting on the other side of the door. But not this.

It was just a normal apartment, a little grungy, cluttered, not nearly as decorated as his place with Emma, but a regular apartment all the same.

And the vague feeling that he had been here before. 

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, stepping lightly into a living room filled with junk from days gone by. 

Afraid to touch anything, he looked around, unsure of the sense of déjà vu coming over him, as if he’d been here in a dream. Lifting a yellow dream catcher from its place in the window, he couldn't shake this unsettling feeling. The dream catcher felt light in his hand, like the feathers that dangled from it’s strings, but heavy in his heart. 

Neal had always had a bit of magic. Not a lot. And he hated it thoroughly, but it did come in handy when he needed a touch of luck. Now, however, he felt his hands burn with it, every instinct telling him to drop the thing, being completely unable to, as if it were glued to his hands. It was full of nightmares, loneliness leaking from the strings and onto his hands. It was magic like he hadn’t felt in years. And for the first time he wondered if the man in leather was right. Could his father really be here, after centuries, had his past finally caught up to him just when those old wounds were starting to heal?

That’s when he saw it, swallowing hard as his heart broke, a little glass frame on a nightstand in the bedroom. Neal was in the picture. But Emma wasn’t. 

“No,” he whispered to himself, “No, no, no…”

But as he picked up the frame he felt a sense of familiarity to go with the unease. He knew the woman in the picture. He just didn’t know how. 

She had a wide smile and dark eyes, his scarf wrapped around her throat, a diamond ring on her left hand. And he had his arms around her in a way that was just a little too intimate for his comfort. Last night he had accused Emma of adultery… Neal would never… and yet here was this picture and as much as his brain could’t wrap around the impossibility of it all, he also knew somewhere deep down that this picture was real.

Magic was involved. 

*

“Who is this woman?” Neal demanded, shoving the picture under the nose of the leather-clad man on the park bench. “How do I know her?”

“That,” the man said in his drawn-out lilt, as he took the picture frame from Neal’s hand, “is your fiancée. Or she was. Until she shot you. I don’t know how this curse works, exactly, but I’m betting you’ve still got a scar from it. Right above your heart?”

Neal felt his hand fly to the spot right below his left collarbone where he knew the skin puckered. A stab wound. He’d been involved in a nasty fight behind bars that hadn’t ended well. He remembered it vividly because he really had been trying to be on his best behavior. He’d had to miss his visit with Emma and Henry that week because of it. 

“Are you ready to believe me now?”

No. Not if it meant there was any timeline in which he and Emma and Henry were not a family. A fiancée? He’d been married to Emma for eight years now. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the woman in the picture.

“What else did you find there, Neal? Your favorite records? Henry’s camera? Mail addressed to you? It’s your place. You lived there a year ago, right before the curse.”

A year ago?

“No,” he said, shaking his head but sinking down onto the bench next to the man all the same. “No, Emma and I were in Tallahassee a year ago. It’s not possible.”

“Except for you weren't. Emma lived in Boston, until she moved two years ago. Henry has spent his whole life in Maine. You, well, you lived in that apartment for God knows how long.”

“You’re telling me we’re strangers?” Neal croaked. Because he couldn’t believe that. He knew how magic worked. You can’t fake love like what he and Emma had for each other. Love like what they had for their son. Magic was powerful, but it had a few hard and fast rules. Faking that feeling they had - no! That feeling was real.

“Henry really is your son,” the man said. “But Emma didn’t keep him. And you and Emma...”

He trailed off, handing Neal the picture back. The picture of Neal and that other woman. 

“Can we skip to the part where you believe me now? Cause I’m afraid, Neal, this isn’t really about you. It’s about Emma and her family. She needs to remember.”

“To remember what?”

“Her life. The last decade. Her family. She’s broken a curse before, they need her to do it again.”

“Listen, bud, if you think I’m hard to convince, my wife- Emma, she’s going to be harder. She doesn’t believe in magic, or fate, or anything other than what you can prove. And I think showing her a picture of me with another woman isn’t going to prove what you want it to.”

The man nodded, digging around in his coat until he produced a little blue vial.

“Have her drink this.”

“Yeah, I’m going to hand her a little mysterious bottle I got from a crazy guy in the park and she’ll just gladly down the whole thing, no questions asked!”

“She doesn’t need to know.”

“Are you asking me to drug my wife?” Neal asked, taking the bottle from the man and inspecting it closely. “Sorry pal, already been to jail. Don't plan on going back.”

“But you haven’t, actually,” the man said with an awkward grimace. “In reality, you framed Emma for your crime. She took the fall. You ran off. Not as sweet of a story, but I think you’ll find it’s got a lot of truth to it. The son of a coward doing what his father taught him. Of course, it’s how you got her home to her family, so maybe, if she remembers, she won’t completely resent you for it again. She did last time. But maybe this time will be different.”

Neal didn’t like the way the man was smiling at him. 

Neal didn’t like any of this, actually.

“So I drink this first,” he said, holding up the bottle, “See what there is to remember. And then maybe I’ll consider offering some to Emma. Once I know that it’s not going to hurt her.”

The man shook his head. “There’s only enough for one. And it has to be Emma. You’re going to have to take a leap of faith on this one. But hey, if I’m crazy, if this is all a trick, if the two of you really do love each other, what do you have to worry about?”

Neal glared, tucking the bottle away in his pocket.

“Then again, if I’m right, you sure do have an awful lot to lose, don’t you?”

*

Neal’s first instinct, upon arriving home, was to pour the bottle down the drain. 

There could be anything in that bottle, drugs, poison, diseased things he’d rather not think about. 

Memories of a life without him. 

Only an idiot would consider giving whatever was in that bottle to his wife.

That was his first instinct, anyway. But like most of Neal’s first instincts, he discovered it was wrong. As he sat in their kitchen, staring at the little bottle, he knew that to rob Emma of her choice wasn’t protecting her - it was only protecting him. 

If this was as real as he felt like it was, none of this would matter. 

So he turned the bottle over in his hands a couple times, feeling in his bones that sick sort of deep ache he had come to associate with magic. The kind of magic he had always run away from. The kind of magic he sometimes felt when Emma brushed his hair away from his forehead for a kiss. 

With a frustrated shout he picked up the bottle, moving it into his nightstand and slamming the drawer so hard the lamp on top rattled and almost toppled. His father’s son, a coward and a runner at his core, he didn’t want to admit that there was a hint of truth to everything the man had said.

But Neal had felt like he’d been to that apartment before. He was in the picture with the other woman. He had always sort of felt a bit of magic around his life with Emma, had worried it was something he had passed on to Henry, if he was being honest with himself too.

He just couldn’t believe he would leave her. Betray her. That they would make the decision to give up their son. Worse, what if he hadn’t been involved in that decision at all? What if it had come after he was already gone, having run from his jail time and the only good thing in his life like he had run from everything else? 

But if he had, didn’t she have a right to know that?

And if he doubted his worthiness now, wouldn’t he always doubt it, if she never got her choice?

So yes, Neal knew it was wrong, when she came home and he pretended like everything was fine that evening. He knew it was wrong to share their marriage bed together while he was lying to her about his own loyalty - that damn picture of the other woman seared into his conscience. 

But he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to spend the last day as her husband and Henry’s father being the best damn husband and father he was capable of being.

So they went to The Met, and got pizza for lunch, and walked through central park. He took them out for ice cream sundaes - extra everything - and played Henry’s favorite video games with him until it was late. 

After Henry went to bed he put on their song and he and Emma danced in their bedroom, made love to each other, and he held her in his arms as he waited for her to drift off to sleep.

And then he got up and poured two strong glasses of whiskey. Because red wine just wasn’t going to cut it in this situation. He drank them both, quickly like a shot, before pouring them again and carrying them back into the room, pulling out the little bottle from his nightstand and pouring it into Emma’s crystal cup before lightly shaking her awake. 

“Neal?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes, looking too good to be true with messy hair and his t-shirt on. Poor choice of words. “What are you doing up? Have you been drinking?”

He nodded, taking her hand and preparing for the speech he wasn’t ready to give. 

“I love our life, baby,” he said, with a kiss to her forehead, “It’s perfect, don’t you think?”

“You have been drinking,” she laughed, sitting up and smiling at him across the bed. 

“Do you like our life, Emma?”

She nodded, sobering a bit at the look in his eye. 

“Hypothetically, what if there were parts of it that weren’t real?”

“Like what?” she asked, shifting herself so that she was seated facing him and the two glasses of whiskey. She reached for hers and he pulled it back. 

“What if I had done something bad? A long time ago. The kind of thing that snowballs into another life and other choices. Are you happy with these choices, or would you want to know?”

“You’re worrying me, babe,” she chuckled. “Did you do something bad?”

“So you would want to know?” he repeated. 

“Yes,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. “Neal, what we have is so great because it’s built on honesty. It’s not perfect, but it’s us. And I’m so much happier with the flaws in our life than I would be if you just covered them up to make me happy. Because that wouldn’t be real.”

He nodded, handing her the glass, but covering it with his hand.

“I love you, Emma. And I hope that you’ll be able to forgive me. I don’t know exactly what I’m apologizing for yet, but I’m sorry for all of it. And I need you to know… this past year has been the best year of my life,” he said, removing his hand from her glass. “So before I tell you, let’s toast. To honesty, and love, and hopefully finding something real underneath it all.”

She looked at him quizzically and he did his best to smile encouragingly.

As he watched her tip the memory potion back and swallow it down. 


End file.
